WORK-A-DAY 
WARRIORS 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


WORK-A-DAY   WARRIORS 


WORK-A-DAY 
WARRIORS 


BY  JOSEPH   LEE 

AUTHOR   OP-r*BALI.ADS   OF   BATTLE  " 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   THE  AUTHOR 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


TKINTED    BY 

HAZELL,    WATSON   AND    VINEV,    LD. 

LONDON    AND   AYLESBURY, 

ENGLAND. 


DEDICATED 
TO   HIM  : — 


AUTHOR'S  ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

"  GERMAN   Prisoners,"    "  Back   to   Lon- 
don," "  Four  Rye  Sheaves,"  and  "  Our 
British  Dead,"  appeared  originally  in  The 
Spectator  ;    "  The  Carrion  Crow  "  in  The 
Nation.    To    the    respective    Editors    of 
these  reviews  I  would  return  my  thanks ; 
in  the  first  instance  for  the  hospitality  of 
their  pages  thus  extended,   and  further 
for  the    kind   permission    they   have   so 
readily   granted   me   to   republish   these 
pieces  here.     I  have   to   acknowledge  a 
similar    courtesy   on     the    part    of    Sir 
Frederick   Treves,    Bt.,   whose    compila- 
tion, "  Made  in  the  Trenches,"  published 
on   behalf   of   the    "  Star   and    Garter " 
Endowment  Fund,  included  "  A  Shake- 
speare Tercentenary,"  and  "  St.  Patrick's 
Day  in  the  Mornin'." 

J-  L. 


PAGE 

A    SHAKESPEARE    TERCENTENARY    IN    THE 

TRENCHES    ......  i 

GERMAN  PRISONERS    .....  10 

"  GLAD  THAT  I  KILLED  YER  "  .         .         .12 
LE  TAMBOUR      .          .          .          .          .          .15 

ANCESTRY           ......  16 

LEAVE        .......  19 

BACK  TO  LONDON  :    A  POEM  OF  LEAVE         .  21 

THUNDER-STORM  IN  THE  TRENCHES      .          .  26 
WAR  :     SOME    REFLECTIONS    BY    CORPORAL 

RICHARD  CREW  OF  THE  CANADIANS       .  27 
FOUR  RYE  SHEAVES  .                    .          .          -33 

SICK  PARADE     ......  35 

A  REST  BILLET           .....  37 

PROGRESSION      ......  37 

SUPERSTITION     ......  37 

SAINT  PATRICK'S  DAY  IN  THE  MORNIN'         .  38 

"  IN  ALEPPO  ONCE  "            ....  41 

THE  NURSE 43 

A  BALLAD  OF  DEAD  LOVES         ...  48 

THE  SEA:    A  NIGHT  WATCH  ABOVE    .          .  49 
THE  STAR-SHELL         .          .•         .          .          -52 

THE  CARRION  CROW  .....  54 

NOEL          .......  56 

CASUALTY  LIST  (UNOFFICIAL)       ...  58 

THE  THINGS  I'VE  SEEN       ....  59 

THE  RETURN  o'  THE  YEAR         f         .          .  63 
Vii 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


THE  HAGGIS 

THE  WILLOW  TREE    . 

VERSE  VINDICTIVE 

TRENCH  THOUGHTS  :    CHRISTMAS  1916 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  SOCK     . 

EPITAPH    .... 

THE  ESTAMINET 

MARCELLE. 

THE  TOT  OF  RUM 

THE  STEEL  HELMET  . 

THE  CUIRASSIER'S  GRAVE    . 

THE  AUSTRALIAN 

THE  LISTENING  POST 

TIK,  JOHNNIE  !  ... 

OUR  BRITISH  DEAD    . 


PAGE 

65 

7* 

72 

75 
77 
83 
84 
89 
92 

95 
98 

IOO 
IO2 
105 

108 


ESTAIRES EVENING 


CAP  WORN  BY  A  SERGEANT  OF  THE  SEAFORTH  HIGH- 
LANDERS DURING  THE  INDIAN  MUTINY  J  IN  FRANCE 
BY  PRIVATE  MILLAN,  MACHINE  GUN  SECTION,  THE 
BLACK  WATCH 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


SOLDIERS  SHELTERING  IN  A  CELLAR  DURING  A 
HEAVY  BOMBARDMENT  (By  permission  of 
J.  B.  Grimond,  Esq.,  St.  Andrews)  Frontispiece 

PACE 

ESTAIRES — EVENING  .....  viii 
HIGHLAND  CAP  WORN  IN  INDIAN  MUTINY  .  ix 
GERMAN  PRISONERS  (By  permission  of  James 

Cunningham,  Esq.,  St.  Andrews)  .          .       n 
ix 


x       LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  TANK  "  IN  ACTION  .  .  .  17 
YPRES — CHRISTMAS  EVE  (By  permission  of 

Norman  Bell,  Esq.,  Dundee)         .          .  20 

STATUE  DE  LA  VIERGE,  ALBERT,  SOMME      .  29 

CASTLE  AT  ALEPPO     .         .         .         .  41 

THE  NURSE        ......  43 

THE  DERELICT            .....  49 

RUINED  CHURCH  AT  ELVERDINGHE      .         .  57 

ONE  LOVED  COT  I  KNOW  ....  75 

A  WAYSIDE  ESTAMINET  IN  FLANDERS  .  .  84 

THE  WAGGONER 86 

REFUGEES  SHELTERING  IN  AN  ESTAMINET 

DURING  A  BOMBARDMENT      ...  87 

MARCELLE           ......  88 

AT  THE  WINDOW        .....  91 

POILU  WITH  SHRAPNEL  HELMET           .         .  97 

THE  CUIRASSIER'S  GRAVE   ....  99 

AN  AUSTRALIAN           .          .          .          .          .  101 

ALLAH  DAD        ......  104 

VIA  DOLOROSA  :  BRINGING  IN  THE  WOUNDED 

AFTER  gTH  MAY  (By  permission  of  James 

W.  Scott,  Esq.,  Dundee)  .  .  .  107 
FRENCH  GIRLS  TENDING  THE  GRAVE  OF  AN 

ENGLISH  SOLDIER  no 


We  are  but  warriors  for  the  working  day  ; 
Our  gayness  and  our  gilt  are  all  besmirch' d 
With  rainy  marching  in  the  painful  field  : 
There's  not  a  piece  of  feather  in  our  host 
(Good  argument  and  hope  we  will  not  fly), 
And  time  hath  worn  us  into  slovenry  ; 
But  by  the  Mass  our  hearts  are  in  the  trim. 


xii 


A   SHAKESPEARE   TERCEN- 
TENARY IN  THE  TRENCHES 

THREE  centuries  agone  since  Shakespeare 

died, 
Since  he  was  shrouded  in  good  English 

ground, 

His  body  to  the  earth,  his  spirit  free, 
His  bones  to  lie  for  aye,  his  book  to  live  : 

And  here  sit  I,  a  tattered  Corporal, 
Reading   me    snatches   from   a   tattered 

tome, 

In  fateful  Flanders  in  a  fetid  trench, 
While  round  me  lie  six  lads  in  ravelled 

hose, 
Torn  kilts,  and  broken  shoon,  and  lousy 

shirts, 
Like  his  own  Falstaffs  ragged  regiment. 


2         WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

We    crouch    within    a    dug-out's    dusty 

depths  ; 

A  cavern  in  the  earth  ;  Adullam  cave  ; 
A  mouse's  burrowing — a  mole's — no  more, 
Yet  sanctuary  'gainst  the  iron  storm 
Which  works  unheeded  havoc,  o'er  our 

heads. 

Two  hundred  yards  away  the  Teuton  line 
Twines  like  some  scaly  serpent  in  the  grass 
Which  ever  and  anon  doth  vomit  fire. 

And  these  are  they  would  claim  Will  for 

their  own  ? 
Well,  they,  if  more  than  kin,  are  less  than 

kind, 

For  all  the  day,  from  dawning  to  the  dusk, 
They've  tried  us  with  a  dozen  different 

deaths. 

E'en  so  ;   I  turn  the  pages  of  his  book 
As  Shakespeare  turned  each  several  folio 
Of  that  vast,  varied  volumed  Book  of 
Life. 


SHAKESPEARE  TERCENTENARY  3 

Here   were   stout   words   for   cheer   and 

'couragement, 
And  it  seemed  England  when  we  heard 

such  words, 

And  leafy  Warwick  in  a  Morn  o'  May, 
And  Arden  Forest  'neath  a  greenwood 

tree. 


This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this 

England, 
This  land  of  such  dear  souls,  this  dear,  dear 

land  ; 

This  England  never  did,  nor  never  shall, 
Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror. 

Once  more  unto  the  breach,  dear  friends,  once 

more, 
Or  close  the  wall  up  with  our  English  dead  ! 


Around  us  were  the  lodges  of  our  dead, 
Who  gave  their  life  that  England  still 

might  live ; 

The  very  burrow  in  the  which  we  were, 
Had  bones  of  dead  men  baked  into  the 

clay : 
Their  ghosts  still  seemed  to  linger  in  our 

lines. 


4        WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

But  I  read  on  ;   a  passage  from  a  play, 
With  frequent  interlude  and  change  of 

scene, 
Till  here  was  Denmark  and  the  moody 

Dane. 
Without,   the   Corporal   did   change   the 

guard, 

Even  while  Bernardo  challenged  Francisco 
Upon  the  battlements  at  Elsinore  : 

FRAN. — You  come  most  carefully  upon  your 

hour. 
BER. — Tis  now  struck  twelve  ;  get  thee  to  bed, 

Francisco. 
FRAN. — >For  this  relief  much  thanks.  .  .  . 

"  And  so  say  I,"  said  Nick,  acrawling  in, 
'  'Tis  dull  work  gazing  into  No  Man's 

Land, 

And  peopling  it  with  denizens  of  dream — 
But  do  not  let  my  coming  stay  the  play  ; 
The  play's  the  thing ;  your  audience 

awaits  !  " 

So  now  my  fingers  found  that  sad,  sweet 

tale, 

That  story  of  the  ancient  grudge  between 
The  House  of  Montague  and  Capulet. 


SHAKESPEARE  TERCENTENARY  5 

That  old-time  tear,  that  tale  of  deathless 

love, 

Of  youthful  love,  of  love  at  sudden  sight  ; 
That  moonlight  madness  of  a  man  and 

maid, 

That  mating  in  a  Springtime  of  the  world, 
That  Eve  and  Adam  of  a  later  date. 
And  so  I  read.  .  .  . 

Till  o'er  the  sullen  booming  of  the  guns 
There  rose  the  tumult  of  Verona's  streets, 
The   sounds  of  brawl,   the  bickering  of 

blades, 

And  Tybalt  draws  upon  Mercutio  ; 
And  there  is  rapier  play,  and  then,  and 

then, 
Mercutio  is  hurt  'neath  Romeo's  arm  : 

MERCUTIO — A  plague  o'  both  your  houses  !  I 
am  sped.  .  .  .  Tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well, 
nor  so  wide  as  a  church  door ;  but  'tis 
enough,  'twill  serve  :  ask  for  me  to-morrow, 
and  you  shall  find  me  a  grave  man.  I  am 
peppered,  I  warrant,  for  this  world.  A 
plague  o'  both  your  houses  ! 

"  I  cry  '  Amen  !  '  to  that  !  "  upspake  poor 

Nick, 
He  of  reflective  eye  and  raven  hair, 

B 


6        WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

"  Hapsburg  and   Hanover,   Kaisers   and 

Kings  ! — 

My  mood  this  moment  is  to  quarrel  most 
With  what  would  rob  me  of  my  life  and 

love, 

The  beauty  of  the  day,  the  dawn,  the  dusk, 
And  give  us  naught  but  dark,  and  dust, 

and  death — 

And  yet,  and  yet,  if  only  England  live 
Our  life  is  but  a  little  thing  to  give." 

And  he  is  dead  since  syne ;   I  stood  one 

morn, 
At  the  chill  hour  of  dawn,  alone  with — 

what  ? 

A  man  ? — a  memory  ? — a  mystery  ? 
Which  was  what  I  had  loved,  and  yet  was 

not ; 
Whose  hand,  that  I  had  clasped  so  oft 

before, 

Fell  now  from  mine  as  in  indifference  ; 
Who  heard  me  not,  who  spoke  not  any 

word, 
And    still     seemed    voluble     as     many 

tongues ; 


SHAKESPEARE  TERCENTENARY  7 

Whose  eyes  saw  naught,  yet  seemed  to 

embrace  all ; 
Whose  lips  were  parted  as  might  be  in 

smile 
That  death  had  been  so  little  difficult. 

From  the  grim  belt  of  broken,  blasted 

trees, 

There  spoke  the  rifle  of  a  lurking  foe  ; 
The  bullets  spat  upon  the  ruined  wall 
'Neath  which  he  lay  ;  silence  throbbed  in 

my  ear ; 

A  bird  woke  in  the  wood,  and  then  a  wind, 
Which  lifted  up  a  tress  of  his  dark  hair 
Then  laid  it  down,  like  hand  invisible, 
And  moaned   like   to   a  hungry  human 

heart. 

And  there  stood  I,  and  thought  of  hearts 
would  break, 

And  hands  would  move  in  memory  'mid 
that  hair, 

When  this  news  reached  his  now  uncon- 
scious home, 

And  I  did  groan  for  them  and  not  for  him. 


8         WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

I  saw  the  dawn  drift  up  a  quiet  street, 
And  steal  into  the  room  where  he  had 

slept ; 

I  heard  a  dog  bark,  and  a  clanging  bell, 
And  then  the  kindly  kitchen  sounds  which 

he 
Had  known  on  many  mornings  long  ago. 

I  bent  me  down  and  felt  about  his  breast . 
And  took  the  missives,  that  he  held  so 

dear, 
From   her,    the   mistress    of    his    ardent 

heart. 
And  they  were  red  with  his  heart's  blood. 

I    found    her    pictured    image,    pensive 

smiling,  sad, 

As  if  she  had  foreknowledge  of  his  fate — 
And  it  was  also  showered  with  that  red 

rain. 

And  last  of  all  I  took  the  little  disc, 
The    little   round    that    told    the    little 

round 
Of  his  career,  and  it  was  red  with  blood. 


SHAKESPEARE  TERCENTENARY  9 

I  laid  one  kiss  upon  his  brow,  and  looked 
For  the  last  time  upon  his  sculptured  face, 
And  so  I  left  him,  till — what  comes  to  pass. 

But  here  was  he  alive,  and,  "  Read,"  says 

he, 

"  Those  passages  where  Romeo  doth  part 
With  Juliet  and  never  meets  her  more." 


GERMAN    PRISONERS 

WHEN  first  I  saw  you  in  the  curious  street, 
Like  some  platoon  of  soldier  ghosts  in 

grey, 

My  mad  impulse  was  all  to  smite  and  slay, 
To  spit  upon  you — tread  you  'neath  my 

feet. 
But  when  I  saw  how  each  sad  soul  did 

greet 

My  gaze  with  no  sign  of  defiant  frown, 
How  from  tired  eyes  looked  spirits  broken 

down, 
How  each  face  showed  the  pale  flag  of 

defeat, 

And  doubt,  despair,  and  disillusionment, 
And  how  were  grievous  wounds  on  many 

a  head, 

And  on  your  garb  red-faced  was  other  red  ; 
And   how   you   stooped   as   men   whose 

strength  was  spent, 

I  knew  that  we  had  suffered  each  as  other, 
And  could  have  grasped  your  hand  and 

cried,  "  My  brother  "  ! 

10 


"  GLAD  THAT  I  KILLED  YER  " 

A   MODERN   SONG   OF  LAMECH 

Hear  my  voice  ;    hearken  unto  my  speech  :  for  I 
have  slain  a  man. — GENESIS  iv.  23. 

GLAD  that  I  killed  yer— 
It  was  you  or  me  : 

Our  bayonets  locked, 
And  then  I  pulled  mine  free  ; 
My  heart  beat  like  to  burst ; 
But  Gawd,  I  got  in  first — 
Glad  that  I  killed  yer  ! 

Glad  that  I  killed  yer, 

Though  you  are  so  young  : 

How  still  you  lie 
With  both  your  arms  outflung  : 
There's  red  blood  on  your  hair — 
Well,  what  the  Hell  I  care  ?— 
Glad  that  I  killed  yer  ! 

12 


"  GLAD  THAT  I  KILLED  YER  "     13 

Glad  that  I  killed  yer— 
You're  my  enemy ; 

I  had  to  hate — 
And  you — you  hated  me  ; 
You  mightn't  be  to  blame — 
I  killed  yer  just  the  same — • 
Glad  that  I  killed  yer  ! 

Glad  that  I  killed  yer— 

That's  the  game  o'  war ; 

But  for  my  luck 
I'd  lie  just  like  you  are  ; 
Your  blood  is  on  my  hand — 
Surely  you  understand 
I  had  to  kill  yer  ? 

Glad  that  I  killed  yer— 
Yet  I  can't  forget 

The  look  you  gave  me 
When  we  turned — and  met — 

Why  do  you  follow  me  with  staring 

eye  ? 

Was  it  so  difficult  a  thing  to  die — 
Gawd  !   when  I  killed  yer  ? 


14      WORK-A-DAY   WARRIORS 

Glad  that  I  killed  yer— 
Yet  I'm  sorry,  too, 

For  those  will  wait 
So  long  at  home  for  you  : 

I  have  a  mother  living  down  at 

Bow — 
Thank  Gawd  for  this  that  yours 

will  never  know 
'Twas  I  that  killed  yer  ! 

Glad  that  I  killed  yer — 
It  was  you  or  me  : 

It  does  seem  strange, 
But  it  had  got  to  be. 
My  heart  beat  like  to  burst, 
But  Gawd,  I  got  in  first — 
Glad  that  I  killed  yer ! 


LE    TAMBOUR 

As  I  rode  through  the  town  of  Aire, 
Up  the  long  street  did  come 

A  little  lad  who  lustily 
Did  beat  a  little  drum, 

Did  bang  a  brazen  cymbal 

And  beat  upon  a  drum. 

His  father  died  at  Verdun, 
His  mother  weeps  in  Aire  ; 

The  little  lad  drums  undismayed, 
How  should  he  know  or  care 
That  each  tuck  makes  her  tears  to 

start — 
That  he  beats  tattoo  on  her  heart  ? 


ANCESTRY 

I  AM  one  with  my  fleet-foot  forebear, 

skin-clad,  with  his  flint-head  spear ; 

I  am  one  with  the  savage  tribesman, 

with  his  bow-string  taut  to  his  ear ; 

I  am  one  with  them  in  their  courage  ; 

one  with  them  in  their  fear : 
As  I  lie  out  here,  with  dead  men  near 
In  this  Listening-Post  with  my  gun 
They  and  I  are  One  ! 

I  am  one  with  the  ancient  Roman, 
pressing  on  in  his  grim  phalanx  ; 

I  am  one  with  the  Spartan,  the  Trojan, 
and  the  Grecian's  steel-clad  ranks ; 

They  with  their  Horse,  Heaven-sent, 
and  I  with  my  earth-born  "  tanks  "  ; 


16 


TANK        IN    ACTION 


i8       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

As  I  move  to  attack,  with  my  kit  on  my 

back, 
And  my  bombs  and  my  steel-tipped 

gun, 
They  and  I  are  One  ! 

I  am  one  with  the  cohorts  of  Caesar ; 

with  the  hosts  of  Hannibal ; 
With  the  legions  of  all  the  leaders 

to  the  last  "  Petit  Caporal  "  ; 
One  with  the  millions  of  nameless  dead, 

who  have  fallen  as  soldiers  fall : 
As  I  crawl  through  the  breach  in   the 

battered  wall, 

Or  charge  at  the  run  with  my  gun, 
They  and  I  are  One  ! 


LEAVE 

HE  was  going  home  to-morrow,  his  heart 

was  light  and  gay  ; 
He  was  going  home  to-morrow — but  he 

went  Home  to-day  ! 


BACK    TO    LONDON 

A   POEM   OF   LEAVE 

I  HAVE  not  wept  when  I  have  seen 

My  stricken  comrades  die  ; 
I  have  not  wept  when  we  have  made 

The  place  where  they  should  lie  ; 
My  heart  seemed  drowned  in  tears,  but  still 

No  tear  came  to  my  eye. 

There  is  a  time  to  weep,  saith  One, 

A  season  to  refrain  ; 
How  should  it  ope,  this  fount  of  tears, 

While  I  sate  in  the  train, 
So  that  all  blurred  the  landscape  moved 

Outwith  the  window  pane  ? 


22       WORK-A-DAY   WARRIORS 

But  one  short  day  since  I  had  left 

A  land  upheaved  and  rent, 
Where  Spring  brings  back  no  bourgeoning, 

As  Nature's  force  were  spent ; 
Yet  now  I  travelled  in  a  train 

Through  the  kindly  land  of  Kent ! 

A  kindly  land,  a  pleasant  land, 

As  welcome  sight  to  me 
As  after  purgatorial  pains 

The  Plains  of  Heaven  might  be, 
When  the  wondrous  Goodness  that  is  God 

Draws  a  soul  from  jeopardy. 

A  pleasant  land,  a  peaceful  land 

Of  wooded  hill  and  weald, 
Where  kine  stand  knee-deep  in  the  grass, 

And  sheep  graze  in  the  field  ; 
A  blessed  land,  where  a  wounded  heart 

Might  readily  be  healed. 

A  wholesome  land,  where  each  white  road 

Leads  to  a  ruddy  hearth  ; 
Where  still  is  heard  the  sound  of  song 

And  the  kindly  note  of  mirth  ; 


BACK   TO    LONDON  23 

Where  the  strong  man  cheerful  wakes  to 

toil 
And  the  dead  sleep  sound  i'  the  earth. 

I  have  not  wept  when  I  have  seen 

My  chosen  comrades  die  ; 
I  have  not  wept  while  we  have  digged 

The  grave  where  they  should  lie  ; 
But  now  I  lay  my  head  in  my  hand 

Lest  my  comrades  see  me  cry. 

The  little  children,  two  by  two, 
Stand  on  the  five-barred  gate, 

And  wave  their  hands  to  waft  us  home 
Like  passengers  of  state  ; 

My  heart  is  very  full,  so  full 
It  holds  no  room  for  hate. 

The  children  climb  the  five-barred  gate 

And  blow  us  kisses  five, 
The  little  cripple  in  his  car 

Waves  from  the  carriage  drive : 
Blessed  are  the  dead,  but  blessed  e'en 
more 

We  soldiers  still  alive  ! 


24       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Lo  !   we  draw  near  to  London  town, 
The  troop  train  jolts  and  drags, 

The  friendly  poor  come  forth  once  more 
To  greet  us  in  their  rags — 

The  very  linen  on  the  line 

Flutters  and  flaunts  like  flags  ! 

The  girls  within  the  factory  grim 

Smile  at  the  broken  pane  ; 
The  sempstress  in  her  lonely  room 

Sighs  o'er  her  task  again  ; 
The  servant  shakes  her  duster  forth 

To  signal  our  speeding  train  ; 

The  station  names  go  flitting  past 

Like  old  familiar  friends  ; 
The  smoke  cloud  with  the  clouds  aloft 

In  wondrous  fashion  blends, 
And,  lo  !   we  enter  London  town, 

To  where  all  journeying  ends. 

I  have  not  wept  when  I  have  seen 

A  hundred  comrades  die  ; 
I  have  not  wept  when  that  we  shaped 

The  house  where  they  must  lie — 
But  now  I  hide  my  head  in  my  hand 

Lest  my  comrades  see  me  cry. 


BACK   TO    LONDON  25 

These  are  the  scenes,  these  the  dear  souls, 
'Mid  which  our  lot  was  cast, 

To  this  loved  land,  if  Fate  be  kind, 
We  shall  return  at  last, 

For  .this  our  stern  steel  line  we  hold — 
Lord,  may  we  hold  it  fast  ! 


THUNDER-STORM  IN   THE 
TRENCHES 

Hast  thou  an  arm  like  God  ?  or  canst  thou  thunder 
with  a  voice  like  Him  ? 

BETWEEN  the  anger  of  our  guns 

Spoke  forth  th'  Artillery  of  Heaven  ; 

Like  warning  words  writ  on  the  wall 
The  sky  with  light  was  riven. 

Yet  did  there  seem  no  note  of  wrath, 

So  that  my  soul  rejoiced, 
As  if  I'd  heard  from  Sinai's  Mount 

God's  admonition  voiced. 


WAR 

SOME  REFLECTIONS  BY  CORPORAL  RICHARD 
CREW  OF  THE   CANADIANS 

From  whence  come  wars  and  fightings  ? — JAMES  iv.  i. 

SURE,  I  dunno  ; 
There's  some  men  call  War  "  murder," 

Some  say  it's  elevatin' ; 
I've  'card  both  sides 
Their  cases  statin' 
An  hour  or  so — 
But  I  dunno. 


There  was  Jim, 
Got  blown  up  in  a  mine  : 

He  was  elevated  right  enough — 
But  yet  I  felt  it  tough, 
27 


28       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

For  I  was  fond  o'  him. 

And  then,  pore  Jake, 

Struck  in  's  stummach, 
Went  swearin'  straight  to  hell- 

If  hell  ain't  all  a  fake- 
No,  siree,  War 
Ain't  pretty  like  a  Calendar  ! 


One  thing — the  dead 
Ain't  beautifully  spread, 

Each  with  an  artistic  scar 
'Cross  his  fore'ead  ; 

No,  that  ain't  War 
Whatever  poets  say — 

Shrapnel  and  high  explosive 
Do  not  work  that  way. 


Ye  mind  o'  Ned  ? — • 
Him  what  went  West 
At  St.  Eloi  ?- 
A  rare  good  boy, 
One  o'  the  very  best ; 


STATUE    DE    LA    VIERGE,     ALBERT,     SOMME 
There  is  a  belie/  that  with  the  fall  of  this  statue  the  war  will  terminate. 


30       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Well,  his  pore  'ead 
Was  blown  clean  off, 
And  biffed  me  in  the  chest  ! — 
It  seems  to  me 
There's  something  in  the  murder  theory. 

I've  been  out  'ere 
Just  on  two  year, 
And  seen  it  all 

From  Wipers  to  the  Somme  ; 
And  not  much  bugle  blowing, 
Nor  banner  flowing, 

And  all  that  truck  ; 
Just  mostly  muck  and  mud, 
And  mud  and  muck, 
And  what  the  Frenchies  call,   I  think, 

ang-wee ; 
No,  War  ain't  what  them  long-haired 

coves 
Have  cracked  it  up  to  be  ! 

And  yet, 

You  bet, 

There's  something  in  it,  too — 
Not  gauged  by  me  and  you  ; 


WAR  31 

My  Gawd,  I've  stood 
After  a  heavy  biff, 
Pondering  a  bit  on  death — 
And  getting  back  my  breath — 
Thinking  how  boys  have  died, 
Until,  by  Christ,  I've  cried — 
Yet,  somehow  it  seemed  GOOD  ! 

I  mind  me  how 

Just  nigh  the  Hat 1 — 
(Wish  was  there  now  !) 

We  rounded  up  a  snake — 
Some  rattler  at  that  ! 

And  Lariat  Jack 
Bent  o'er  his  saddle  bow 
And  gripped  the  rattler  so, 

And  broke  its  bloomin'  back. 

And  I  said  "  Shake," 

1  Medicine  Hat,  a  town  in  Alberta,  which  derives 
its  name — for  the  retention  of  which  Rudyard 
Kipling  made  an  eloquent  and  successful  plea  with 
his  pen — from  the  fact  that,  seven  Indians  having 
been  drowned  higher  up  the  creek,  the  hat  of  the 
Medicine  Man  here  floated  up.  By  the  Cow-puncher 
it  is  designated  colloquially  and  affectionately  "  The 
Hat."  Wish  I  had  my  head  in  it  now  ! 


32       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

And  yet  felt  sorry,  too, 
For  that  there  worm 
Was  wondrous  beautiful  of  hue  ! 

I  guess  there  are 
Redeeming  tints  to  War. 
Mayhap  the  Lord — 

Who  makes  the  silly  snakes, 
And  breathes  in  storm,  and  shakes 
The    everlastin'    hills    wi'    His    earth- 
quakes ; 

Who  sets  a  little  lamb 
Upon  an  English  mead, 
Yet  lets  the  tiger  breed 
And  the  wolf  dam 
Down  in  the  jungle — 
Mayhap  the  Lord 

Ain't  made  no  bloomin'  bungle, 
But  even  in  bloody  war — 
Such  as  this  are — 
Fulfils  His  wondrous  Word  ! 

Christ !    I  am  cold,  wish  Sergeant  Wood 

would  come, 
And  dish  me  out  my  morning  tot  o'  rum  ! 


FOUR    RYE    SHEAVES 

FOUR  rye  sheaves  to  be  my  bed ; 
"  Now  God  me  save,"  was  the  prayer  I 
said  ; 

And  sweet  was  the  sleep  that  came  to  me, 
For  I  was  home  where  I  fain  would  be  ; 

And  sweet  was  the  dream  that  sleep  did 

yield, 
A  flowering  bank,  and  a  daisied  field  ; 

A  lovers'  lane,  and  a  winsome  maid — 
But  I  never  heard  the  word  she  said  ; 

I  never  heard  what  word  she  spoke, 
For  the  bugle  was  blown  and  I  awoke. 


33 


34       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Four  rye  sheaves  to  be  my  bed — 

But  where  this  night  may  I  lay  my  head  ? 

Four  rye  sheaves  to  be  my  bed — 
Will  she  come  with  that  word  if  I  am 
dead  ? 


SICK    PARADE 

Orderly  Corporal,  loq. — 
Fall  in  the  lazy,  the  lousy,  and  the  lame, 
Fall  in  the  blighters  who  are  trying  to  play 

the  game — 
Give  me  your  number,  religion,  age,  and 

name — 

Fall  in,  fall  in  ! 

Fall  in  the  fellows  with  the  chilly  feet; 
Fall  in  the  blokes  who've  had  too  niuch 

to  eat ; 
Fall  in  the  "  drafties  "  who  are  missing 

mother's  teat — 
Fall  in,  fall  in  ! 

Fall  in,  fall  in,  you  heirs  to  every  ill, 
The  "  Doc  "  will  dish  you  out  his  wonder- 
working pill — 

"  Nine  "  or  "  eleven  "  *  will  either  cure  or 
kill— 

Fall  in,  fall  in  ! 

1  Popularly — or     perhaps     unpopularly — known 
among  the  men  as  "  stoppers  "  and  "  starters." 

35 


36       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Fall  in — bolt  down  your  bit  o'  breakfast 

rootie,1 
You  who  expect  to  go  to  England,  home, 

and  beauty — 
You'll  be  marked  down  for  "  medicine  and 

duty  "- 

Fall  in,  fall  in  ! 

Fall  in,  the  lousy,  the  lazy,  and  the  lame, 
Fall  in  the  fellows  who  are  out  to  play  the 

game — 
Give  me  your  number,  religion,  age,  and 

name — 

Fall  in,  fall  in  ! 

1  Bread — a    word    adopted    into    the    soldiers' 
vocabulary  from  his  Indian  comrades-in-arms. 


A    REST   BILLET 

"  WHEN  the  next  biff  is  over,  we  shall  have 

a  rest,"  said  Jo  ; 
His  comrades  left  him  sleeping — for  it  was 

even  so. 


PROGRESSION 

BILL,  when  he  lived  in  Lunnon,  lived  down 

Whitechapel  way ; 
He  owns  a  dug-out  of  his  own,  in  old 

"  Park  Lane  "  to-day  ! 


SUPERSTITION 

THREE  soldiers  lit  their  cigarettes,  each  by 

the  self-same  match  ; 
Well,  all  the  three  have  come  so  far — 

without  a  single  scratch  1 

D  37 


SAINT  PATRICK'S  DAY  IN  THE 
MORNIN' 

THE     LOVE     LILT     OF     CORPORAL     PATRICK 
MULLOHOY   OF   THE   CONNAUGHT   RANGERS 

SAINT  PATRICK'S  Day  in  the  mornin', 
A  year  ago  to-day, 
I  was  awalkin'  meself  alone 
Adown  a  green  lane  in  ould  Athlone — 
Well,    sure   now,    of   course,    sweet 

Molly  Malone 

Was  with  me  upon  the  way  ; 
I  gathered  a  sprig  of  shamrock, 

Which  in  her  dear  breast  she  set, 
And,  like  the  dew  on  the  little  plant, 
With  tears  her  blue  eyes  were  wet — 
For  I  was  going  away — 
O,  Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  mornin' 
A  year  ago  to-day  ! 
38 


ST.    PATRICK'S    DAY  39 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  mornin', 
This  very  blessed  day, 

The  ould  Colonel  had  us  all  out  on 

parade, 
And,  "  I'm  proud  of  me  bhoys,"  was 

what  he  said, 
"  Ye've  won  fresh  laurels  will  never 

fade — 

That's  all  that  I've  got  to  say  "  ; 
Then  he  gave  us  a  sprig  of  shamrock, 

And  I  sent  it  home  to  my  pet, 
And  all  that  I  wrote  aneath  it  was  : 

"  Perhaps  ye  will  not  forget — 
For  ever  and  alway — 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  mornin' 
A  year  ago  to-day  !  " 

Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  mornin', 
Next  year  this  very  day, 

Please    God   I'll   be   walkin'    meself 

alone 
Adown    that    green    lane    in    ould 

Athlone — 

With  by  me  side  sweet  Molly  Malone, 
To  keep  me  upon  the  way  ; 


40       WORK-A-DAY   WARRIORS 

Then  I'll  gather  a  sprig  of  shamrock, 

And  set  it  upon  her  breast, 
And  I'll  place  two  kisses  upon  her 

lips — • 
And  I'm  thinkin'    ye'll  guess   the 

rest — 
For  all  that  I'm  going  to  say 

Is,  "  Ye  haven't  forgotten  the  pro- 
mise ye  made 

Upon  Saint  Patrick's  Day — 
Saint  Patrick's  Day  in  the  mornin' 
Two  years  ago  to-day  ?  " 


"  THAT    GRIM     CASTLE    IN    THAT    ANCIENT    TOWN  " 


"IN    ALEPPO    ONCE'3 

And  say  besides,  that  in  Aleppo  once, 
Where  a  malignant  and  a  turban'd  Turk 
Beat  a  Venetian  and  traduced  the  State, 
I  took  by  the  throat  the  circumcised  dog, 
And  smote  him  thus — and  thus. 

OTHELLO. 

How  should  it  come  to  pass  that  on  this 

page 

O'er  which  I  pore  by  this  pale  candle  light, 
There    should    appear    this    creature    of 

affright — 

The  unnamed  victim  of  Othello's  rage  ? 
41 


42      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

He  drags  himself  as  'twere  upon  the  stage. 
And  glares  with  eyes  that  are  not  things  of 

sight ; 

And  beckons  to  behold  his  piteous  plight, 
The  gouts  of  blood  no  unguent  can  assuage. 
Beneath  the  battlements  I  see  him  lie, 
Of  that  grim  castle  in  that  ancient  town, 
And  all  his  wounds  are  mouths  that  seem 

to  cry 
To    bring    the    vengeance    of    Almighty 

down — 
How  should  it  come  to  pass  he  points  at 

me  ? 

Alas! 
How    should    it    come    to    pass  ?     How 

should  it  come  to  pass  ? 


THE   NURSE 

THE    NURSE 

WHEN  I  came  to  mysel'  a  lily-white  hand 

Was  stroking  my  fever'd  brow, 
And  I  couldn't  remember  where  I'd  been 
hit, 

And  I  couldn't  remember  how, 
But  I  felt  as  if  from  red-hot  hell 

The  Lord  had  just  set  me  free — 
And  here  was  a  blessed  angel  from  heaven 

A-bending  over  me  ! 

43 


44     WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

She  had  a  smile  like  a  morn  o'  May, 

And  the  kindest  of  soft  grey  eyes ; 
And  I  felt  a  sort  o'  confused,  I  suppose, 

And  I  guess  that  I  made  to  rise ; 
But  she  held  me  easy  wi'  one  small  hand, 

And  she  said,  "  Now,  you  must  lie  still," 
And  I  hadn't  the  strength  o'  a  new-born 
babe, 

And  so  I  just  done  her  will. 

I  closed  my  peeps,  and  I  lay  for  a  spell 

Stretched  out  in  my  little  cot, 
A-trying  to  think  what   I'd  gave  them 
Huns — 

A-trying  to  think  what  I'd  got, 
And,  by-me-bye,  my  leg  gave  a  twinge, 

Made  me  more  curse  than  cry, 
And  I  says  to  mysel',  "  Well,  number  one 

Is  a  compound  fractured  thigh  !  " 

I  explored  no  further  for  a  bit, 
But  lay  still  in  my  little  bed, 

Till  sudden  a  bandage  slipped  o'er  my  eye, 
And  says   I,   "  Number  two's  in   the 
head  "  ; 


THE    NURSE  45 

Then  I  noses  about  again,  and  remarks, 

"  There  ain't  no  cause  for  alarm, 
But  unless  I'm  mighty  mistaken,  Mike, 

Number  three's  in  your  fore  left  arm  !  " 

I'd  got  splints  all  over  my  pore  old  stumps, 

And  lint  all  over  my  skin, 
And  I  found  'arf  a  dozen  apertures 

What  had  let  bits  o'  shrapnel  in  ; 
And  thinks   I,   "  You've  more  metal  in 
your  hide 

Than  money  in  your  purse," 
And  I  opened  -my  eyes,  and  attempted  .to 
smile, 

And  there  again  was  the  Nurse. 

She  looked  at  me  so  sorrowful, 

Yet  brightly,  too.     Says  I, 
"  It's  no  use  patching  a  hulk  like  me, 

Nurse,  hadn't  you  best  let  me  die  ?  " 
I  seen  her  brush  her  eyes  with  her  hand, 

Then  she  gave  her  proud  head  a  toss, 
And,  "  Michael,"  she  says,  "  would  you 
like  to  see 

A  Red  Cross  Nurse  really  cross  ?  " 


46      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

The  way  that  that  girl  manoeuvred  me, 

The  sort  o'  things  that  she  done, 
'Twas  like  having  my  old  mother  back 
again 

And  I  but  a  kid  aged  one  ; 
There's  nothing  that's  pretty  about  me, 

And  I'm  only  one  half  tamed, 
But  when  she'd  attend  to  my  toileting, 

I  felt  thankful — and  ashamed  ! 

It  was  always,  "  Mike,  good  mornin', 

And  how  do  you  feel  to-day  ?  " 
And  yet  she'd  the  sharpest  of  eyes  to  see 

My  drugs  duly  stowed  away ; 
The  visitin'  Surgeon's  very  good, 

And  the  resident  Doctor,  too, 
But  I  places  it  here  on  record, 

It  was  Nursey  what  pulled  me  through  ! 

The  sight  o'  her  face  seemed  to  ease  my 
pain, 

The  sound  o'  her  voice  done  me  good, 
And  she  was  so  gentle  and  kind  wi'  me, 

What  had  been  so  sinful  and  rude  ; 


THE    NURSE  47 

I  done  a  heap  o'  pondering, 
And  at  nights  before  I  slept, 

When    I   thought   what    I'd    been    with 
women, 

I  just  turned  on  my  face  and  wept. 

The  world  is  full  o'  good  women, 

And  if  they're  not  all  the  same, 
I'm  doubting,  matey,  that  you  and  me 

Are  somehow  a  bit  to  blame  ; 
And  when  I'm  a-crawling  around  on  my 
crutch 

And  Sister  goes  up  the  ward, 
I  think,  there  are  angels  withouten  wings, 

And  I'm  glad,  and  I  thank  the  Lord  ! 


A    BALLAD    OF    DEAD    LOVES 

A-LONG  ago,  when  the  world  was  young, 
And  spears  were  shivered,  and  lutes  were 

strung, 
And  songs  slid  from  the  minstrel's  tongue — 

Ah  !    woe  is  me  ! 

A  knight  sailed  over  the  Spanish  Main, 
He  sailed — but  he  came  not  back  again — • 

Ah  !   woe  is  me  ! 

A-long  ago  was  a  ladye  fair, 
With  eyne  of  blue  and  with  golden  hair  ; 
When  her  love  came  not  she  was  full  of 
care — 

Ah  !   woe  is  me  ! 

She  pined — but  she  pined  not  quite  away, 
She  wed  with  the  knight  who  survived  the 
fray — 

Ah  !   woe  is  me  ! 


48 


THE    DERELICT 

THE    SEA 

A   NIGHT  WATCH   ABOVE 

MY  soul  is  sick  for  the  sea, 
For  the  scudding  ships, 
For  the  rollers  racing  free, 

For  the  winds  that  sting  like  whips, 
For  the  winds  that  sting  like  whips, 
For  the  winds  that  smack  like  wine 
O  for  a  good  ship  on  the  sea, 

If  that  good  ship  were  mine. 

49 


50      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Here  is  the  night-watch  set, 

And  here  do  I  take  my  stand, 
Doing  my  spell  at  the  parapet 

With  my  eye  fixed  on  No  Man's  Land  ; 
With  my  eye  set  on  No  Man's  Land, 

With  my  eye  on  that  waste  o'  Hell, 
But  my  heart  alert  for  the  full  sail's  fret 
And  the  boom  of  the  old  ship  bell. 

I  set  my  soul  on  an  outward  bound, 

And  I  set  the  course  by  a  star  ; 
But  I  miss  the  swell  beneath  my  feet 
As  she  noses  for  over  the  bar, 
As  she  rises  and  dips  at  the  bar, 

As  she  pauses  to  sniff  the  gale  ; 
To-night  I  would  circle  the  whole  world 

round 
With  never  a  shorten  sail ! 

I  stand  on  the  firing-step, 

As  I've  stood  on  the  fo'c'sle-head, 
And  I  think  of  the  sailors  drowned  I've 

known, 

And  the  soldiers  I've  known  who  are 
dead, 


THE    SEA  51 

Of  my  mates  over  there  who  are  dead, 
Of  my  mates  who  are  graved  in  the 

sea, 
And  I  think  that  if  God  gave  me  choice  of 

graves, 
I  know  what  my  choice  would  be  ! 

The  spindrift  smites  my  face, 

As  there  comes  the  lashing  of  rain, 
And  the  gale  whistles  through  the  top- 
gallants 

Like  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  pain, 
Like  the  cry  of  a  soldier  slain  ? — 

Or  a  mariner  in  the  sea  ? — 
Ah  !   if  God  would  but  give  me  choice  of 

death, 
I  know  what  my  choice  would  be  ! 


THE    STAR-SHELL 

(WITH  APOLOGIES  TO  THE  GENTLE  SHADE 
OF  JANE  TAYLOR) 

TWINKLE,  twinkle,  little  star, 

I  know  just  what  the  'ell  you  are, 

Up  above  the  trench  so  high, 

Like  some  d —   -  arc-lamp  in  the  sky  ! 

When  the  blinking  sun  is  gone, 
When  'e  nothing  shines  upon, 
The  Allemand  throws  up  your  light, 
Twinkle,  twinkle  all  the  night. 

Then  the  Tommy  in  the  dark 
Thanks  you  for  your  tiny  spark — 

(I  don't  think  !) 

Fritz  wouldn't  guess  our  little  go 
If  you  did  not  twinkle  so  ! 
52 


THE   STAR-SHELL  53 

But  as  it  is  'e  opens  fire, 

Retching  us  working  at  our  wire — 

("  Keep  still,   you  blokes  ;    get  on   yer 

knees, 
And  freeze,  ye  bloomin'  blighters,  freeze  !). 

Oft  in  the  trench  my  watch  I  keep, 
And  o'er  the  parapet  I  peep, 
But  Lordy  !    I  must  mind  my  eye", 
When  you  go  soaring  through  the  sky  ! 

Or  when  I'm  out  upon  patrol, 
I've  got  to  flop  into  a  hole- 
Well  do  I  know  just  what  you  are — Hell  !— 
(There  goes  another  !) 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star-shell ! 


THE    CARRION    CROW 

A  CROW  sat  on  a  crooked  tree, 

And  first  it  cawed,  then  glowered  at  me. 

Quoth  I,  "  Thou  hoary,  hooded  crow, 
Why  do  ye  glower  upon  me  so  ?  " 

"  I  look  upon  thee  live,"  it  said, 
'  That  I  may  better  ken  thee  dead  ; 

'  That  I  may  claim  thee  for  my  ain 
When  ye  are  smoored  among  the  slain." 

The  crow  perched  on  that  crooked  tree, 
Nor  raised  its  evil  eye  frae  me. 

It  perched  upon  that  crooked  thorn, 
And  gazed  on  me  as  if  in  scorn  : 

'  I'll  whet  my  bill  upon  thy  blade 
Where  thou  art  lying  in  the  glade  ; 

54 


THE   CARRION   CROW         55 

"  I'll  pike  out  baith  thy  bonnie  e'en  ; 
I'll  pike  the  flesh  frae  off  each  bane  ; 

'  Thy  lips  that  kissed  a  lover  fair, 
God  wot !    but  I  will  kiss  them  bare  !  " 

The  crow  perched  on  that  crooked  tree, 
Nor  raised  its  evil  eye  frae  me. 

"  Thou  horrid,  hooded,  hoary  crow, 
Why  do  ye  glower  upon  me  so  ?  " 

"  I  look  upon  thee  live,"  it  said, 

"  That  I  may  better  ken  thee  dead." 

[There  is  a  somewhat  whimsical  sequel  to  the 
above.  One  afternoon  the  R.Q.M.S.,  who  is  one  of 
the  best  revolver  shots  in  the  Battalion,  entered  my 
billet  with  a  Webley  in  one  hand  and  a  dead  crow 
in  the  other.  "  He  perched  upon  a  tree,  and 
glowered  at  me,  and  as  I  thought  of  him  possibly 
picking  out  my  e'en — well,  /  picked  him  off  first  !  "] 


NOEL 

CHRISTMAS  EVE,  and  a  wind  with  a  sting, 

We  rode  from  Ypres  through  Elverdinghe. 

The  ruined  church  rose  gaunt  on  our 

right : 

With  a  turn  of  the  head, 
The  Q.M.  said, 
"  There  will  be  no  service  to-night !  " 


RUINED    CHURCH    AT    ELVERDINGHE 
' '  There  will  be  no  service  to-night  I " 


CASUALTY    LIST 

(UNOFFICIAL) 

MAIDENS  and  matrons  ;   mothers  o'  sons, 
How  many  have  fallen  a  prey  to  the  guns  ? 


THE    THINGS    I'VE    SEEN 

PERHAPS  a  hundred  years  from  now, 
When  I  below  the  sod  am  jammed, 

Some  bloke  may  pick  up  this  'ere  pome, 
And    read,    and    say,    "  Well,    I'll   be 
damned  !  " 

'  There's  nothing  new,"  the  Preacher  says, 

"  That  happens  underneath  the  sun  " 
And  yet  the  curious  things  I've  seen  ; 
The  bloomin'  curious  things  I've  done. 

I've  seen  young  blokes  what  has  been  bred 

To  sell  duds  in  a  draperie, 
Stand  under  fire  and  keep  their  head 

Wi'  seasoned  sodjers  same  as  me  ! 

I've  'ad  them  on  a  bombing  raid, 
Wi'  faces  and  wi'  bay 'nets  black, 

And  not  a  single  one  afraid    • 
And  not  a  single  man  hang  back  ! 
59 


60      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

They've  lain  and  waited  till  the  wire 
Was  cut  and  scattered  by  our  shells, 

Then  waltzed  into  the  German  trench 
As  gay  as  Negro  minster-els  ! 

I've  seen  our  Batt.  go  singing  in 
To  what  was  well-nigh  certain  death  ; 

I've  seen  'em  die,  and  heard  'em  cheer 
For  Britain  wi'  their  dying  breath  ! 

I've  seen  my  matey  standing  by, 
And  asked  him  if  a  fag  he'd  got ; 

He  hadn't  even  time  to  cry 
When  something  took  him — he  was  not  ! 

I've  seen  a  bloke  shot  thro'  the  head — 
A  bloke  I  ne'er  her.rd  swear  afore — 

He  spun  right  round,  and  dropped  down 

dead, 
And  wot  he  said  was,  "  O  you  whore  !  " 

I've  seen  me  chargin'  on  the  foe, 
To  prod  him  wi'  my  bayonet ; 

Then  "  Kamerad  !  " — and  next  I  know 
I'm  handing  him  a  cigarette  ! 


THE    THINGS    I'VE    SEEN        61 

I've  seen  our  sappers  spring  a  mine, 
That  darkened  all  the  sky  at  noon, 

And  left  a  hole  within  their  line 

Like  some  lorn  crater  of  the  moon  ! 

I've  seen  the  Germans  shell  a  town, 
In  this  ungracious  year  o'  grace  ; 

A  market  town,  on  market  day — 
And  first  shell  in  the  market-place  ! 

I've  seen  an  aeroplane  brought  down, 
Just  like  a  bird  wi'  broken  wing, 

And  watched,  for  what  seemed  like  a  week, 
Them   doomed  men  try  to   right  the 
thing  ! 

I've  heard  the  guns  at  Neuve  Chapelle — 
An  earthquake  held  in  leash,  say  I, 

Yet,  o'er  the  hubbub  of  that  hell, 
I've  heard  a  lark  sing  in  the  sky  ! 

I've  seen,  amidst  this  waste  o'  war, 
God's  goodly  seasons  come  and  go  ; 

And  flowers  bloom  in  the  wilderness, 
And  rain  fall  both  on  friend  and  foe. 


62      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

I've  seen — I've  seen  a  heap  o'  things, 
That  I  ain't  got  no  time  to  tell, 

But  every  word  is  Gospel  true— 
I've  done  most  o'  the  things  mysel'. 

"  All  vanity,"  the  Preacher  says, 

"  There's    nothing    new    beneath    the 
sun"- 

And  still  the  curious  things  I've  seen, 
The  amazing  curious  things  I've  done  ! 

Perchance  a  hundred  years  from  now, 
When  I  below  the  sod  am  jammed, 

Some  bloke  will  pick  up  this  'ere  pome, 
And    read,    and    say,    "  Well,    I'll    be 
damned  !  " 

And  say  ! — If  for  the  hist'ry  books, 
Some  o'  my  words  seem  rather  warm, 

Perhaps  some  bloke  might  sort  'em  out— 
I  wouldn't  do  the  kids  no  harm  ! 


THE    RETURN    O'    THE    YEAR 

YEAR  after  year  the  grass, 

Year  after  year  the  grain, 
But   the   sleeping   dead   in    their   lonely 
graves 

They  never  return  again. 

Year  after  year  the  bud, 

And  the  bird  upon  the  tree, 
But  my  fond  love  wha  sleeps  so  sound, 

He  never  comes  back  to  me. 

Year  after  year  the  wind, 

Year  after  year  the  rain, 
But  the  weary  night  and  the  dreary  day 

Bring  nought  to  me  but  pain. 

The  sun  and  the  moon  and  the  stars, 
And  the  clouds  fade  from  the  sky, 
And  the  last  leaves  fall  from  the  lifeless 

trees — 

It's  O,  that  I  might  die  ! 
63 


64      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 
Year  after  year  the  grass, 

Year  after  year  the  grain, 
But    the   dead  who    sleep  in   the  weary 
graves 

They  never  return  again. 


TO    MRS.    M- 


TO   WHOM   WE    WERE    IN- 


DEBTED FOR  A  HAGGIS,  WHOSE  AMPLI- 
TUDE WAS  IN  SOMEWISE  COMMENSUR- 
ATE WITH  THE  LARGENESS  OF  HER 
HEART 

Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  pudding  race  ! 

A  HAGGIS  ;   a  Haggis, 
An  honest  Scottish  Haggis  ! 
Let  Frenchmen  make  a  loud  to-do 
About  the  length  o'  their  menu — 
New-fangled  fricassee,  ragout, 

And  sic  like  dishes — 
Auld  Scotia's  simple  brag  is 
Her  ancient  Haggis  ! 
65 


66       WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

To  me  arrives  a  Haggis  ; 
A  Haggis  ?— A  HAGGIS  ! 
A  healthy,  wholesome  Haggis 

As  ever  ye  did  see, 
And  writ  upon  the  tag  is  : 
'  To  Sergeant  Joseph  Lee- 
Just  boil  it  for  a  wee  !  " 

Ah  !    well  kenn'd  I  wha  made  it— 
Frae  the  foundation  laid  it — 
Wha  packed  it  up,  and  prayed  it 

Wad  in  condition  be — 
As  tho'.  hersel'  had  said  it- 
It  brought  me  memorie 
O'  the  land  sae  dear  to  me — 
Land  where  the  rock  and  crag  is, 
Land  where  the  rill  and  quag  is, 
Land  where  the  leaping  stag  is — 
Did  this  Scotch  Haggis. 

"  Go  out  into  the  highways, 
Go  out  into  the  byways," 
Quo'  I  in  muckle  glee, 
"  Go  into  ilka  billet— 


THE    HAGGIS  67 

The  fatted  calf  is  kille't — 
And  say  that  so  we  will  it — 

Compel  them  come  and  pree 
The  big  and  buirdly  Haggis 

That's  been  sent  out  to  me  !  " 
"  Losh,  but  I'll  sound  the  slogan  !  " 
Cried  souple  Stievie  Logan, 

And  aff  at  aince  set  he. 

The  Haggis  ;  THE  Haggis, 
Yes,  let  us  to  the  Haggis — 
Pegasus,  my  nag  is 

Inclined  to  need  the  spur — 
We  passed  it  for  inspection, 

Then  in  the  pot 

Till  it  was  hot — 
O,  glorious  resurrection  ! 

The  Haggis,  the  Haggis  ; 
Wull  Wright  an  unco'  wag  is, 
And  he  cried  out  wi'  passion, 
"  The  smell  itsel' 
Might  very  well 
Serve  for  a  sodger's  ration  !  " 


68      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Now  quick  the  Cook  arrays  it, 
And  in  the  Piper  plays  it ; 
Ye  never  heard  siccan  a  din, 
The  billet  roof  comes  tumblin'  in. 
(I  dinna  ken  wha  pays  it — 
That's  quite  anither  story.) 
Dan  gi'es  us  "  Scotland's  Glory  "  ; 
His  ruddy  cheeks  are  outward  blawn, 
His    neb    is    cocked,    his    neck    is 

thrawn, 

He  blaws  until  his  bag  is 
As  big's  our  muckle  Haggis  ! 


Behind  him,  Billy  Milne,  elate, 
Bears  the  great  chieftain  on  a  plate, 

Advancing  and  retiring — 

Like  the  Haggis'  sel'  perspiring— 
Wi'  many  a  step  frae  many  a  dance 
Unknown  in  the  salons  o'  France. 

Now,  round  and  round  the  room  they 
go 

For  it  is  seemly  even  so  ; 
At  last  amidst  the  babel 

The  Haggis  takes  the  table  ! 


THE    HAGGIS  69 

The  guests  await,  the  Grace  is  said, 
Then  the  proud  host  outdraws  his  blade  : 
"  A  British  bayonet's  jag  is 
The  best  for  Hun  or  Haggis  !  " 
Wi'  that  he  straightway  falls  on  it 
And  gi'es  the  Haggis  sic  a  slit  ; 
The  whereupon,  entrancing  sight, 
The  hidden  glories  come  to  light — 
"  Advance,  attack,  each  valiant  wight, 
And  make  good  play  wi'  fork  and  spoon, 
The  Devil  take  the  hindmost  done — 
The  first  to  fail  or  flag  is 
No'  worthy  o'  a  Haggis  !  " 


No  need  to  force  a  Scotsman  go 

To  find  a  friend  or  fight  a  foe, 
And  swiftly  at  that  given  word 
They  fall  on  it  wi'  one  accord, 

Wi'  spoon  and  gully-knife  and  fork 

They  make  the  shortest  o'  short  work — 
There's  ne'er  been  sic  a  stabbin' 
Since  our  boys  took  the  Schwaben  ! 
They  hack  and  hew  that  Haggis 
Till  a'  that's  left  a  rag  is  ! 

F 


yo      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

And  when  they've  worked  their  will  o't, 
And  when  they've  ate  their  fill  o't, 
Mair  nor  ae  chield  can  scarcely  drag  his 
Sel'  frae  that  feast  o'  Haggis  ! 

A  Haggis,  a  Haggis, 
An  honest,  homely  Haggis  ! — 
Land  where  the  riven  crag  is, 
Land  where  the  leaping  stag  is, 
Thy  proudest  boast  and  brag  is 
Thy  ancient  Haggis  ! 


THE    WILLOW   TREE 

O,  WILLOW,  Willow  weeping, 
Your  tears  fall  down  for  whom  ? 

We  soldiers  who  are  sleeping 
Until  the  Day  of  Doom  ? — 

O,  Willow,  Willow  weeping, 

So  soundly  we  are  sleeping. 

O,  Willow,  Willow  weeping, 
Do  you  but  weep  for  those 

Our  women  folk  whose  hearts  are  broke 
Whose  eyelids  never  close  ; 

Who  lie  all  night  unsleeping — 

O,  Willow,  Willow — weeping. 


7« 


VERSE    VINDICTIVE 

3668    PRIVATE   WILLIAM    WARLEY    TO 
KAISER  WILHELM   II 

How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 

How  does  it  seem  on  the  losing  side  ? 

How  does  it  pain  you   to   pocket   your 

pride  ? 

Sure,  it's  a  bitter  pill- 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 


You'd  got  your  mailed  hand  on  one  half 

of  the  map, 

Like  a  thief  with  his  paw  in  the  till, 
But  John  Bull's  gripp'd  your  wrist, 
And  you'll  open  your  fist- 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 
72 


VERSE'  VINDICTIVE  73 

You  would  wallow  around  in  the  wealth  o ' 

the  world, 

Like  a  hog  wi'  its  snout  in  the  swill, 
But  we've  upset  your  trough, 
For  you've  sure  had  enough — 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 

You  wanted  a  "  place  in  the  sun  "  was 

your  plaint, 

You  could  had  it  for  us  with  a  will ; 
We'll  find  you  a  place  hotter  far  than 

the  sun — 
You  are  bound,  my  bold  Wilhelm,  for 

hell  on  the  run — 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 

They  do  say  that  your  hair  is  a-turning 

white, 
And  that  you  are  looking  ill— 

Well,  my  pore  mother  is  grey-haired 

too, 
And  I'm  putting  it  down  on  account 

to  you — 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 


74      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Your  hair  is  turned  white  ;    well,  your 

hands  are  turned  red 
Wi'  the  blood  ye  ha'  made  men  to  spill ; 
I    bayoneted    one    o'    your    blokes 

mysel' — 
It  was  you  that  he  cursed  as  his  soul 

sped  to  hell  !— 
How  d'ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 

And  when  you  shall  stand  at  the  Lord's 

Judgment  Seat, 
And  the  great  Court  is  all  hushed  and 

still, 
And  the  Angel  Recording  shall  point 

to  your  scroll, 
And  God  shall  look  right  thro'  your 

poor  puny  soul — 
How  will  ye  like  it,  Bill  ? 


ONE   LOVED    COT    I    KNOW 

TRENCH    THOUGHTS 

CHRISTMAS   1916 

NOT  of  the  Christ  who  came 
Two  thousand  years  ago  ; 
Only  the  firelight  glow 
In  one  loved  cot  I  know. 

Not  of  those  shepherds  old, 

Watching  their  flocks  by  night ! 
But  Father,  and  Kate  with  a  light, 
Seeing  that  cows  is  right. 

75 


76      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Not  of  the  Angel  song  ; 

Peace  unto  men  of  Goodwill ; 
Only  my  brother  Bill 
Dead,  and  he  done  no  ill ! 

Not  of  the  Heavenly  Host, 

Bringing  tidings  of  great  joy  ; 
But  my  Mother's  homely  employ, 
And  her  prayer,  "  My  boy,  my  boy  ! 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SOCK 

DEDICATED  TO  LADY  BAXTER  OF  IN- 
VEREIGHTY 

HE  stood  within  the  flooded  trench, 

The  water  reached  his  knee, 
His  feet  seemed  like  twa  icebergs  sunk 

Deep  in  an  Arctic  sea  ; 
His  heart  was  cold  ;   his  hands  were  cold 

And  dead  as  granite  blocks  :     . 
"  Lord  !   What  would  I  no  gi'e  the  nicht 

For  a  clean  pair  o'  socks  !  " 

He  stood  within  the  tottering  trench, 

The  water  touched  his  thigh  ; 
His  wits  were  wander'ed,  wanting  sleep, 

But  down  he  daurna  lie  ; 
His  blood  seemed  frozen  ;    "  Lord,"  he 
cried, 

"  Could  I  but  slip  my  fit 
In  saft,  warm  woolly  socks,  the  kind 

My  mither  used  to  knit !  " 
77 


78      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 
He  followed  down  the  twining  trench 

The  way  the  men  did  go  ; 
Sometimes  he  wrastled  in  a  slough 

As  stern  as  Solway  Flow. 
Richt  ruefully,  "  Why  did  I  no' 

Bide  at  name  like  ither  folks  ?  " 
Syne  dourly  swore  he'd  see  it  thro', 

If  he  had  but  clean  socks  ! 

He  struggled  on  the  endless  road, 

All  through  the  endless  night, 
Thro'  wind  and  weet,  thro'  snaw  and  sleet, 

He  was  a  waeful  wight ; 
Quo'  he,  *'  I  dinna  mind  being  killed, 

I  dinna  mind  the  knocks, 
If  only  I  could  put  my  feet 

Into  a  pair  o'  socks  !  " 

He  stumbled  thro'  the  silent  town, 

And  to  the  ruined  farm, 
Then  threw  himself  among  the  straw 

And  found  it  welcome,  warm  ; 
But  the  clay  walls  were  ill-designed 

To  stay  the  Winter's  shocks, 
And  a'  the  nicht  his  feet  were  cauld — 

He  dreamed  o'  nought  but  socks  ! 


THE   SONG   OF   THE    SOCK     79 

He  dreamed  that  on  his  mother's  knee, 

A  golden,  curly  head, 
Before  the  fire  he  warmed  his  feet 

Ere  he  should  go  to  bed  ; 
She  felt  his  tiny  toes — He  woke — 

'Twas  but  a  dream  that  mocks  ; 
For  she  was  dead — "  Or  I  this  day 

Wad  no'  hae  wanted  socks  !  " 

Just  then  a  much-wished  mail  came  in, 

And  there  was  great  a-do, 
To  find  out  rightly  which  was  which, 

And  what  was  there  for  who  ; 
The  postman  picked  a  parcel  up  ; 

"  For  Private  Weelum  Knox  !  " 
Will  slipped  the  string,  and  out  there  fell 

A  pair  o'  worsted  socks  ! 

There  was  beside  a  hame-baked  cake 

To  help  him  wi'  his  tea  ; 
A  case  of  Straight  Cut  Cigarettes 

Straight  frae  Virginiee  ; 
Some  soap,  some  jam,  a  packet  neat 

O'  Edina's  far-famed  rocks, 
But  first  and  best  o'  a',  a  pair 

O'  well-knit  woollen  socks  ! 


80      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

They  werena  fashioned  frail  and  fine, 

Too  dainty  for  defiling, 
Not  like  the  lasses'  silken  hose 

Worn  for  the  lads'  beguiling  ; 
They  bore  no  dandified  design 

O'  arrows  or  o'  clocks — 
But  just  an  honest,  homely  pair 

O'  hand-made  Scottish  socks  ! 


"  Now,  thank  the  Lord  !  "  he  softly  cried, 

"  For  woman's  skilful  hand, 
And  thank  the  Lord  for  woman's  heart 

So  swift  to  understand  ! 
And  thanks  to  her,  matron  or  maid, 

Seventeen  or  seventy-three, 
The   socks  who   wrought,    and   had   the 
thought 

To  send  them  out  to  me  ! 


Was't  frae  some  mither,  such  as  his  ? 

Working  her  "  purl  and  plain," 
And  thinking  o'  her  absent  lad 

Till  the  tears  drapp'-d  down  like  rain  ; 


THE  SONG   OF  THE   SOCK     81 

Her  hands  aye  full  o'  housely  work, 
Patching  trousers,  mending  frocks, 

Yet  somehow  finding  time  to  knit 
A  pair  o'  sodger's  socks  ? 

Was't  frae  some  grand  dame,  nearly  done, 

Yet  eager  still  to  do, 
And  full  of  memories  of  her  sire 

Who  fought  at  Waterloo  ? 
Was't  frae  a  maid  o'  modest  mien, 

Soft  eyes,  and  silken  locks  ? — 
Here  Will  pu'ed  up  his  straying  thoughts, 

And  pu'ed  on  baith  the  socks  ! 

Then  quickly  pu'ed  ane  off,  to  find 

A  note,  the  which  did  say  : 
"  I  hope  these  socks  will  warm  your  feet, 

Yours  faithfully,  Nell  Grey."- 
They   warmed   his    feet,    they   fired    his 
heart — 

Wi'       fearsome       "  Heuchs !  "       and 

"  Hocks  !  " 
The  day  they  wed,  it's  like  I'll  dance 

The  soles  out  o'  my  socks  ! 


82      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

O,  women  in  this  woeful  time, 
Who  work  while  ye  do  weep, 

Forget  not  that  who  goeth  forth 
The  sheaves  shall  surely  reap ; 

Hearts  that  bemoan  a  man  child  slam- 
Hands  that  the  Cradle  rock, 

May  knit  this  broken  world  again, 
Knitting  a  soldier's  sock  ! 


EPITAPH 

WHERE  the  long  trench  twines  snake-like 

To  keep  the  foe  at  bay, 
There  be  the  place  to  lay  me, 

And  this  be  what  you  say  : 

Here  lieth  one  who  loved  all  life, 
Sunshine  and  song,  and  sword  and  strife  ; 
Sea  and  storm,  and  wind  and  rain, 
Breaking  bud,  and  bursting  grain, 
Pulsing  pleasure,  and  stabbing  pain — 
Who  would,  an  he  could,  live  all  over 
again ! 


A   WAYSIDE    ESTAMINET    IN    FLANDERS 


THE    ESTAMINET 

THE  Recreation  Hut  is  dull, 

The  Dry  Canteen  is  dry, 
And  some'ow  neither  seems  designed 

For  soldiers  sich  as  I ; 
I  likes  some  family  comfort 

And  I  likes  some  fireside  cheer 
What  time  I  am  partaking  of 

My  little  drop  o'  beer — 
And  so  it  is  I  spend  my  pay 
Within  the  old  Estamin-ay  ! 

Deux  bier,  Mademoiselle,  sil  vous  play  ! 
84 


THE    ESTAMINET  85 

It's  'Ome  Sweet  'Ome  from  twelve  to  two, 

Likewise  from  six  to  eight, 
And  there  I  sits  and  pulls  my  pipe 

And  parleys  with  my  mate  ; 
We  sits  and  parleys  'bout  the  war 

And  if  it's  going  to  end — 

(What  a  hope !} 
And  when  the  old  clock  strikes  weet  heur 

We  up  and  homewards  wend — 
And  so  when  we  can  draw  five  francs 
We  do  not  put  it  in  no  banks  ! 

Encore  une  bier,  sil  vous  play ! 

And  when  our  appetites  is  sharp, 

And  we  have  got  the  spoof, 
We  have  a  plate  o'  pomme  de  terre, 

Du  pang,  buerre,  an  oof ; 
And  if  the  morning's  very  cold 

Then  in  by  stealth  I  come, 
And  blarney  Marie  till  I  gets 

A  cafe — avec  rhum  ! 
Fite  !    M.P.  hovering  o'er  the  way 
Might  close  the  old  Estamin-ay  ! 

Bon  sante !   Mademoiselle !   Policemans 

no  regardez  moi  I 
G 


86     WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

Marie  is  tres  complaisant ; 

She  is  full  o'  woman's  wile, 
With  an  expansive  bosom, 

And  an  expansive  smile  ; 
And  sometimes  I  have  pondered 

If  it  might  not  come  to  be 
That  I  might  marry  Marie — 

If  Marie  'd  marry  me — 
And  spend  the  evening  of  my  day 
Within  this  old  Estamin-ay  ! 

A  h  non,  Monsieur  !   Reste  tranquille  !- 
Apres  la  guerre  ! 


THE    WAGGONER 


REFUGEES    SHELTERING    IN    AN    ESTAMINET    DURING   BOMBARDMENT 


MARCELLE 

"  In  your  last  book,  '  Ballads  of  Battle,'  I  looked 
in  vain  for  some  tribute  to  Marcelle,  and  for  the 
picture  which  you  made  of  her  sitting  by  the  open 
window." — LETTER  TO  THE  AUTHOR  FROM  SOLDIER- 
COMRADE. 

MARCELLE,  who  served  the  cafe  noir, 

The  vintage  white  and  red, 
With  lightsome  step,  with  laughing  eye, 

With  proudly  poised  head  ! 

Vin  blanc,  vin  rouge  ;   of  red,  of  white, 
What  need  was  there  to  speak  ? 

For  they  were  out-vied  by  the  red 
And  lily  of  thy  cheek  ! 

Trench-worn  and  stained  we  sat  around 

And  quaffed  vin  ordinaire, 
And  were  rejuvenate,  as  if 

Hebe  the  cup  did  bear  ! 
89 


go      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

For  us  the  ever-generous  door, 

.  The  ever-gracious  smile, 
The  attentive  ear,  the  ready  tear, 
The  glance  devoid  of  guile. 

But  not  for  us  that  pensive  gaze, 

The  sudden  mist  of  tears, 
The  broken  sigh  that  spoke  a  tale 

Of  lovers'  hopes  and  fears  ! 

Marcelle  !   when  peace  shall  dawn  at  last 

Upon  this  night  of  pain, 
May  thy  bold  chasseur,  all  unscathed, 

Come  back  to  thee  again  ! 

Bon  soir  !     Marcelle  ! 

Thy  Scottish  soldiers  wish  thee  well  ! 


AT   THE   WINDOW  - 


THE    TOT    OF    RUM 

A   SOLILOQUY  AT   STAND-TO   IN 
THE   TRENCHES 

When  the  Sergeant  drinks  your  tot,  never  mind  ; 
When  the  Sergeant  drinks  your  tot,  never  mind  ; 
When  the  Sergeant  drinks  your  tot, 
Let  him  drink  the  bloomin'  lot — 
Though  it  burns  his  bluidy  throat 
We'll  never  mind. 

SOLDIERS'  SONG. 

BEFORE  I  saw  the  trenches 

I  was  a  strict  T.T., 
The  pledge  I'd  took, 
The  water  brook 

Was  strong  enough  for  me, 
But  now  I  take  my  tot  o'  rum — 
(I  wish  to  Gawd  that  Sarg.  would  come)- 

Each  morning  about  three. 

It's  easy  for  the  blokes  at  'ome 

To  talk  of  honest  water, 
And  tell  us  when  we  take  our  tot — 
92 


THE   TOT    OF    RUM  93 

(A  thimble  would  hold  all  the  lot)— 
We  really  shouldn't  oughter ; 

But  if  they'd  got  to  stand  in  mud 
And  water  to  the  knee, 

I  guess  they'd  take  their  tot  o'  rum — 

(I  wish  to  Gawd  that  Sarg.  would  come) — 
The  very  same  as  me. 

You've  been  ten  days  in  the  front  line, 

Strafed  soundly  by  the  Hun, 
You're  short  o'  grub,  you're  short  o'  sleep, 
The  water's  standing  three  foot  deep, 

You're  feeling  nearly  done  ; 
"  Stand-to  !  "     You  shiver  with  the  cold 

You've  no  vitalit-ie — 
It's  then  you  bless  the  tot  o'  rum — 
(I  wish  to  Gawd  that  Sarg.  would  come, 

It's  almost  half-past  three  !) 

It's  like  a  warm  hand  round  your  heart, 

It's  like  a  brazier's  glow  ; 
It  trickles  through  your  trembling  lips, 
It  thrills  you  to  your  finger-tips, 

And  thaws  your  frozen  toe. 


94      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

"  A  little  for  the  stomach's  sake  " — 

That's  good  enough  for  me, 
To  fortify  my  fainting  frame — 
I'll  give  you  gospel  for  the  same, 
See  Tim.  v.  23. 

When  we  return  from  this  'ere  war 

To  mothers  and  to  wives, 
No  rum  we'll  need, 
And  then  we'll  lead 

Sober  and  godly  lives. 
But  while  we're  fighting  in  the  mud, 

I  begs  to  hope  that  we 
Will  get  our  little  tot  o'  rum — 
(My  feet  is  froze,  my  hands  is  numb, 
Thank  Gawd  !  I  see  the  Sargeant  come  !) 

Each  morning  just  at  three  ! 


THE    STEEL    HELMET 

"  /  have  been  a  soldier  in  my  youth,  and  therefore 
know  what  a  helmet  is,  and  what  a  morion  or  cap  of 
steel  is,  as  well  as  a  casque  with  its  beaver,  and  other 
matters  relating  to  Soldiery — /  mean  to  the  arms 
commonly  used  by  soldiers.  And  I  say,  with  sub- 
mission always  to  better  •judgments,  that  the  piece 
before  us,  not  only  is  not  a  barber's  basin,  but  is  as 
far  from  being  so  as  white  is  from  black,  and  truth 
from  falsehood.  At  the  same  time  I  say  that  although 
it  be  a  helmet,  it  is  not  a  complete  helmet." — DONT 
QUIXOTE. 

SINCE  in  fair  fight 

La  Mancha's  knight 
Won  th'  Helmet  of  Mambrino, 

At  storm  or  siege, 

On  lord  or  liege, 
Has  such  a  casque  been  seen,  O  ? 

When  Cavaliers 
About  the  ears 
Of  Roundheads  banged  the  sword, 

95 


96      WORK-A-DAY    WARRIORS 

My  shrapnel  hat 
Might  ha'  been  that 
I'  which  Barebones  praised  the  Lord  ! 

A  halo  shed 

Around  our  head, 
Says  one  artistic  fellow, 

It  might  have  been — 

(A  soup  tureen  ?)— 
Designed  by  Donatello  ! 

Well,  have  we  not 

For  lack  of  pot 
Used  it  to  boil  an  egg  in  ? 

Or  to  immerse — 

Wash-tubs  being  scarce — 
A  Highland  hand  or  leg  in  ? 

It  lies  like  lead 

Upon  the  head 
When  we  are  in  the  trenches, 

Yet  I  must  state 

Our  old  "  soup-plate  " 
Is  safer  than  the  Frenchies'. 


THE    STEEL   HELMET 

And  so  we  laugh 

When  Huns  do  straf 
Our  line  as  they'd  o'erwhelm  it 

You  see  that  dent  ? 

For  me  'twas  meant — 
God  bless  my  old  steel  helmet ! 


97 


POILU    WITH    SHRAPNEL    HELMET 


THE    CUIRASSIER'S    GRAVE 

RAVEN  plume  on  riven  helm, 
Rider  in  an  unknown  realm  ; 

Thou  hast  ta'en  the  final  journey, 
Thou  hast  made  the  final  tourney, 

Shivered  thy  lance,  broken  thy  sword, 
Ended  allegiance  to  thy  lord. 

So  fares  each  knight  encountereth 
The  pale  horse  and  his  rider  Death  ! 


93 


THE  CUIRASSIER'S  GRAVE 


THE    AUSTRALIAN 

In  honour  to  plain  Private  Bill 
Great  Agamemnon  lifts  his  hand. 

THE  ANZAC  BOOK. 

You  don't  salute,  you  don't  salaam, 
You  don't  in  gen'ral  give  a  damn, 
You  don't  count  much  on  discip-lyne — 
But  Gawd  !   behold  you  in  the  line  ! 

In  Egypt,  then  Gallipoli, 
And  now  in  France,  along  o'  me  ; 
Twas  like  a  glint  o'  Southern  sun 
To  have  you  with  us  'gainst  the  Hun. 

You're  big  o'  heart,  you're  big  o'  hand  ; 
Somewhere  around  six  foot  you  stand  ; 
Sinews  o'  steel,  an  iron  jaw — 
Fritz  holds  you  fellers  some  in  awe! 

You  don't  salaam,  you  don't  salute, 
But  Cornstalks  !  you  know  how  to  shoot ! 
Your  'ealths  ! — I  lifts  my  glass  o'  beer — 
The  biggest,  boldest  boys  out  here  ! 

100 


AN    AUSTRALIAN 


II 


THE  LISTENING  POST 

FOUR  live  men  lie  in  the  grass, 
Listening  what  may  come  to  pass  ; 
Open  eye,  attentive  ear — 
Four  dead  men  are  lying  near. 

We  four  lying  in  the  rain, 
Hearkening  if  perchance  we  gain 
Inkling  of  our  enemy — 
That  dead  hand  seemed  to  beckon  me  ! 

We  four  'neath  the  lowering  sky  ; 
Straining  ear,  and  open  eye  ; 
A  star-shell  lights  a  ghostly  cheek — 
Hark !   did  I  hear  that  dead  man  speak  ? 

Out  beneath  the  blackened  sky 

We  four  listening  live  men  lie  ; 

Deep  into  the  dark  we  peer — 

And  four  dead  men  seem  watching  near  ! 

IO2  . 


THE    LISTENING    POST       103 

Unto  the  Earth  my  ear  I  keep  ; 
I  hear  her  breathing,  long  and  deep  ; 
The  speeding  shadows  come  and  go— 
Is  that  patrol  friend  or  foe  ? 

Beneath  the  blackened  heavens  we  lie, 
Three  brave  lads — the  dead — and  I ; 
Open  eye — attentive  ear — 
They  do  not  hear  the  sounds  I  hear, 
Nor  see  four  dead  men  watching  near  ! 


AU.AH 


TIK,    JOHNNIE! 

"  Tik,  Johnnie  !  "  (pronounce  Teek) — the  friendly 
and  familiar  salutation  between  the  British  Tommy 
and  his  Indian  comrade-in-arms,  heard  so  frequently 
during  the  first  year  of  the  war.  Freely  translated,  it 
means  "  good,"  "  all  right  "  ,'  and  many  a  time  it 
seemed  to  render  more  tolerable,  desperate  and  well- 
nigh  intolerable  conditions. 

ALLAH  DAD  and  Hira  Singh, 
You  and  I  fought  for  the  King  ! 
Hajal  Moka,  Suba  Khan, 
You  stood  with  us,  man  to  man — 
Tik,  Johnnie  ! 

When  we  were  tottering  to  our  knees 
Beneath  a  barbed  cheval-de-frise, 
And  struggling  through  the  muddy  miles, 
You'd  meet  us  with  a  face  all  smiles 
And — Tik,  Johnnie  ! 

When  we  were  crouching  in  the  trench, 
And  choking  in  the  smoke  and  stench, 
The  bullets  falling  like  a  flail, 
You'd  pass  us  with  a  friendly  hail — 

Tik,  Johnnie  ! 
105 


io6     WORK-A-DAY   WARRIORS 

And  when,  on  stretchers  dripping  red, 
You  bore  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
With  pity  in  your  wistful  eye, 
Your  greeting  seemed  half  sob,  half  sigh — 
Tik,  Johnnie  ! 

I've  seen  you  leaning  on  a  wall, 
Your  head  smashed  by  a  rifle  ball ; 
You've  smiled,  and  raised  a  hand,  and 
cried 

Tik,  Johnnie  ! 
Then  turned  upon  your  side  and  died. 

May  Allah,  when  you  go  above, 
Grant  you  the  Heaven  you  would  love  ; 
And  if  our  straying  footsteps  meet 
Then  free  and  friendly-like  we'll  greet — 
Tik,  Johnnie  ! 


OUR    BRITISH    DEAD 

O  stranger,  bring  the  Spartans  word,  that  here, 
Obedient  thus  to  their  command,  we  lie. 

SlMONIDES. 

HERE  do  we  lie,  dead  but  not  discontent, 
That   which   we   found   to   do   has   had 
accomplishment. 

No  more  for  us  uprise  or  set  of  sun  ; 
The  vigilant  night,  the  desperate  day  is 
done. 

To  other  hands  we  leave  the  avenging 

sword, 
To  other  tongues  to  speak  the  arousing 

word. 

Here  do  we  lie,  dead  but  not  discontent, 
That   which   was   ours   to   do   has   had 
accomplishment . 

108 


OUR   BRITISH   DEAD        109 

Forget  us  not,  O  Land  for  which  we  fell — 
May  it  go  well  with  England,  still  go  well. 

Keep  her  bright  banners  without  blot  or 

stain, 
Lest  we  should  dream  that  we  have  died 

in  vain. 

Brave  be  the  days  to  come,  when  we 
Are  but  a  wistful  memory.  ...... 

Here  do  we  lie,  dead  but  not  discontent, 
That   which   we   found   to   do   has   had 
accomplishment. 


FRENCH   GIRLS  TENDING  THE  GRAVE  OF  AN  ENGLISH    SOLDIER 


PRINTED   BY 

HAZELL,   WATSON  AND   VINEY,   LD. 

LONDON  AND  AYLESBURY, 

ENGLAND. 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

BALLADS  OF  BATTLE 

Third  Impression.     2s.  6d.  net 
SOME  PRESS  OPINIONS 

The  Times. —  "There  is  real  fibre  and  lifeblood  in  them,  and  they  nev 
fail  to  hold  the  attention." 

The  Spectator. — "  Of  the  verse  that  has  come  straight  from  the  trenches,  tl 
BALLADS  OF  BATTLE  are  among  the  very  best.  The  horror,  the  exultatio 
the  weariness,  and  the  humour  of  trench  warfare  are  here.  Real  soldiei 
songs  .  .  .  wi'h  at  times  a  deeper  note,  as  in  the  remarkable  poem,  '  T! 
Green  Grass.' " 

Morning  Post. — "  There  is  staunch  stuff  in  this  little  book  of  verse  from  tl 
trenches.  .  .  .  Here  is  a  soldier  and  a  poet  and  a  black-and-white  artist 
merit,  and  we  wouldn't  exchange  him  for  a  dozen  professional  versifiers  wl 
.  .  .  cannot  write  with  a  spade  or  draw  with  a  bayonet  or  blow  martial  mus 
out  of  a  mouth-organ." 

Manchester  Guardian. — "There  is  no  shadow  of  doubt  but  that  Sergea: 
Joseph  Lee's  BALLADS  OK  BATTLE  are  the  real  thing.  ...  In  its  way  th 
little  book  is  one  of  the  most  striking  publications  of  the  war." 

Leeds  Mercury. — "  Many  war  poems  have  been  published  of  late,  but  fe 
approach  the  BALLADS  OF  BATTLE  in  point  of  imagination  and  vitality 
expression.     There  is  a  grim  realism  in  the  Sergeant's  poems,  as  well  as  : 
intensity  of  vision  that  is  at  times  almost  startling." 

The  Bookman. — "  Sergeant  Lee  is  in  the  succession,  spiritual  descendant 
those  balladists  and  lyricists  who  have  made  the  name  of  Scotland  bright.  .  . 
As  for  the  manner  of  the  book,  it  is  good-  it  is  very  good,  it  is  notable." 

Glasgow  Herald. — "  Sergeant  Lee's  verses  are  as  frank  and  straight  as  \ 
would  wish  a  soldier-poet's  work  to  be  ;  but  behind  all  the  humour  and  gri 
realism  there  is  a  poet's  ideal  humanised  by  a  Scot's  tenderness,  and  tl 
serious  poems  are  worthy  of  any  company.  Their  courageous  cheerfulness 
inspiring." 

The  Taller. — "A  little  volume  which  I  shall  always  hope  to  keep.  Most 
these  vivid  little  poems  were  composed  well  within  the  firing  line  ;  all  of  the 
are  haunting — some  because  of  their  jocular  soldier-spirit,  others  for  th< 
wonderful  realisation  of  the  silent  tragedy  of  war." 

Sheffield  Telegraph. — "A  human,'  throbbing  thing  from  the  trenches, 
strikes  vibrant  notes  of  laughter  and  tears  ;  now  it  weeps,  and  now  it  is  full 
the  exuberant  joy  of  life  ;  it  is  a  living  document  authentic  and  deep." 

The  Lady. — "Among  the  poems  there  is  not  one  that  is  not  fine  ai 
memorable.  They  are  poems  that  will  be  learned  by  heart,  quoted  unco 
sciously  a  dozen  times  a  day,  familiar  as  household  words.  The  beautil 
little  pen-and-ink  drawings  with  which  they  are  embellished  show  Mr.  L 
equally  gifted  as  artist  and  poet." 


JOHN   MURRAY    ALBEMARLE   STREET,   LONDON,  W.i 


26731 


iRENTANO'8 


